Paper Towns Quentin Novels & Stories

Pitter-patter! At the sound of shoes stepping in puddles, Quentin's eyes were gloomy as he looked up at the tall young figure about half a meter away from him. Philip watched Quentin silently as Theo held the umbrella next to him. He said coldly, “Quentin Quaid, even your father didn't dare to do anything to me back then. You’re very gutsy, but I still want to say that in the future, there’ll be no more Quaid family in Capital City.”

They had their faults, these drunken Frenchmen, but ugliness of Quentin’s kind was not one of them. ‘Hey Quentin, tell me about that thing you were talking about the other day…’ One of the men placed himself between them and took Quentin’s arm. ‘You know, you said it was […]’ Quentin had forgotten he was angry. Later that night Quentin went home and was horrible to his wife. His son, a great big bear of a man just like his father, learned as he had always been learning, how to treat a woman. Meanwhile, at Chateau Nullepart, Teddy thought about how he was going to tell Lala that he knew in his bones that he was soon going to die, and what arrangements she should make for the funeral.

I say. “Right.” He lilts, his coffee colored eyes flicking over me like he knew I was full of shit. “Well. I’ll be off then. You know. Item to find.” He gives me a half grin, showing off pearly white, straight teeth. “Good luck.” He winks, and turns and walks back into the trees. I watched the direction he’d disappeared in for a moment, not sure if I was convinced he was really gone. That interaction made me feel dirty, and I wasn’t sure why. I glance down as Quinton trots off in the opposite direction once Peter is gone, his clothes I’d been carrying for him in between his teeth. It was my turn to search, and we didn’t have any more time to waste with weird interactions between other cast m

"Quentin Harold is in your office. He wants to speak with you. It's urgent. I'd like to assume you didn't screw up this time, but you never know. You may leave now." He swerved and took a seat, lowering his head into the paperwork. "Pleasure, as always." I grinned, then walked out. Almost certainly, his hatred intensified when I blew the Thompson deal. He was eager to mention it. But with Tristan facing criminal charges, I knew my father wanted to steer clear of that mess. With that settled, I tried to figure out why the groom wanted to see me. **** "Quentin." I hollered, just sending the text for Layla to come over. Someone needed to tell her about the pictures she hadn't seen yet.

“Entertain me until I'm calm enough to think of ways to get back at that bitch.” Quentin rose reluctantly like a man walking to his execution, moving toward me with the stiff resignation of someone performing a task he didn’t want but couldn’t refuse. He crossed the room without meeting my eyes. His hands shook as he shoved his pants down, and reached for a fresh condom from the nightstand. I watched him in the reflection—every reluctant movement, every flicker of disgust he tried to hide. He hated this. He always had. And yet he did it. Because Tatum wanted it. Because I let it happen.

"Quentin, I regret ever loving you..." A sharp pain tore through Quentin's chest as if someone had driven a knife straight into his heart, but he forced himself to stay cold. "It's too late for regret now." He released her and stood up, reaching for the whiskey bottle to pour himself another drink. Suddenly, a loud knock echoed from the door. Quentin froze. "Who is it?" His voice was icy. From the other side of the door, a man's voice responded. "Police." Quentin's eyes darkened as his brows knitted together. Setting down his glass, he walked to the door and pulled it open. Two officers stood there, one holding up a warrant.

Quentin, surprised by her boldness, spoke up, "Miss, who might you be?" He had seen plenty of people try to get close to Gavin, but none had been this direct. Sitting down without hesitation as if they were old friends—who was this woman? Jolie smiled at Quentin. "Hi, I’m Jolie Quin." Quentin returned a professional smile. "Nice to meet you, Miss Quin. I’m Mr. Cooper’s assistant, Quentin Rhett. If there’s something you need, feel free to contact me first. This is Mr. Cooper’s private time, and it might not be the best moment for—"

“Hey, I’m grown.” “Yeah, and he’s a hoe.” We all burst out laughing. “True, but I know what I’m doing. You guys don’t have to worry.” We all nod, knowing she’s right. Santana is a ballbuster, so I’m confident she can handle Quentin and all his shenanigans. Quentin walks into the parlor a couple of minutes after we finish talking about him. “Santana, do you still want to see that thing?” He says all mysterious. We all go silent as our focus turns on them. Thing? What thing could he possibly have to show her?

“Does my father know about this?’ “He does but this is the easiest way for you to get permanent residence in this country. Don't worry. It'll be a contract and nothing more. It's called a paper marriage. You won't have to live together for long.” A Paper Marriage is a marriage of convenience made with no intention of forming an actual marital relationship. The term is commonly used to refer to marriages made to gain permanent residence in a particular country. “I can't do something like that,” I protested. “And if I’m going to ever get married, it’s going to be to my boyfriend Henry not some American man. I cannot trade him for anyone.” “Do you want to go back home to die?” “No, aunt.” “Well